


So Close to Heaven Yet So Far from God

by RavenAurelieChoiseau



Category: Narcos (TV), Narcos: Mexico (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Attraction, Caring, Consideration, Consolation, Denial of Feelings, Drinking, Drinking & Talking, Feelings, Feelings Realization, First Time, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Guidance, M/M, Marijuana, Mentions of homophobia, Mutual Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Non-Canon Relationship, Oral Sex, Period Typical Attitudes, Pining, Resolution, Romantic Gestures, Romanticism, Slow Burn, Softness, Summer Nights, Sunsets, Swearing, Tequila, What-If, Working Out My Feelings Through Fic, men kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:00:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22895290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenAurelieChoiseau/pseuds/RavenAurelieChoiseau
Summary: Midnight is for lovers lost in time and place._What if Miguel had told Pacho to look out for his own affairs? What if Pacho and Amado realized they could be so much more than just business partners?
Relationships: Amado Carrillo Fuentes & Hélmer "Pacho" Herrera, Amado Carrillo Fuentes/Hélmer "Pacho" Herrera
Comments: 60
Kudos: 175





	So Close to Heaven Yet So Far from God

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was born one evening in a somewhat drunken conversation with a friend, who agreed that also he saw a glimmer of attraction between these two. I based this story on the episode of Narcos, Season 3 Episode 5 called MRO. It's the moment when Amado is at Pacho's, waiting on an answer to his proposal. The rest is history. :)  
> I invented and changed what suited me to fit the story but there are some lines from the episode which are identical. I try to keep their personality traits as canon as possible within the confines of the story line. The pairing is pretty crack. (Hopefully there's a small following at least.) The show did a great job of dropping breadcrumbs with which to work.  
> Give it a chance if you like fluff and feelings (and smut!)- stories told on summer evenings that seem to last an eternity.

Piles of red and gold clouds slowly dip southwards. As they pass over the trees on Pacho’s property, they soften and disperse into a pale gray. It’s like a charcoal painting getting smudged by a left-handed artist.  
Amado sighs, his throat constricted so tightly he can barely breathe. This is one of those rare nights he wishes would last forever.  
  
Leaves undulating gently in the breeze and the low tinkling sound of one of Pacho’s fountains are the only accompaniment to his racing heart. He asks himself if Pacho notices how his hand is trembling as he passes him the cigarette.  
His host takes the lit joint with two fingers, careful not to drop it. The exchange is teetering: Amado exhales with one chest-deflating heave as Pacho inspires.  
“ _Gracias,_ ” he whispers. Thanks.  
Everything is so still it seems like a sin to disrupt the serenity with a raised voice.  
  
The burn crinkles the paper, the tip blood orange. It’s almost cashed. There’s one hit left judging from its length, and raising it in the air, he offers it to Amado.  
The other wrinkles his nose and shakes his head.  
“Finish it, _hermano_ ,” he replies. “I think I’m getting _too_ relaxed.”  
  
He is. The prolonged eye contact, the increasing pulse throbbing in his ears… he’s afraid of his transparency.  
I’ve been drinking about all the times we sat together, he wants to say. _Give me your mouth, Pacho._  
_  
  
“Shit, this is good,” Pacho coughs at the drag. “I normally don’t indulge but… tonight I can make an exception.”  
_Only because it’s your present.  
_Pacho’s tongue lingers a second, tasting Amado on the filter. This near-kiss, it doesn’t cause him to swoon, nor does it mend his shattered hope of actually sampling his friend’s mouth.  
No, this is all the chimera. The (im)possibility conjured up by his fantasies. He closes his eyes a second, trying to imagine what it would feel like to be smothered by Amado’s warm lips; the drag of his bearded chin against his own.  
Pacho convinces himself with embarrassing ease that it’d be a kiss his tired soul could melt into.  
  
Amado sinks back, watches the fine lines of Pacho’s forehead relaxing. He playfully nibbles at his lower lip with his teeth, ignoring the palpitation in his chest that rises whenever the man even tilts his head in his direction.  
A Jenga tower of scenarios crashes down in his mind.  
  
“It’s Jamaican,” he mutters, a few thoughts too late. What the hell does that even mean? he scolds himself immediately. _It’s JAMAICAN?!_  
_Ay cabrón._  
I’m an asshole, Amado thinks. He’s making me sloppy.  
If that’s the case, though, why doesn’t he give a shit?  
  
Amado smiles for lack of something more clever to say, worried that if he utters even a vowel right now his quivering tone will give away the ache of longing living within him. (The very same that’s been insisting on keeping him awake the past few nights).  
Pacho finds it impossible not to return his disarming smile, and feeling a blush rise, he deflects his attention outwards, toward the terrace.   
“It’s so quiet tonight.”  
  
Watching the lights sink to shadows, Pacho puffs an aura of fresh marijuana smoke out through his pursed lips, its pungent smell permeating the room. The last puff billows between them before dissipating. He places the butt into the ashtray with the same care he’d use to adjust a child’s stray hair, his movements always deliciously delicate.   
  
The magnificence of the sky is a daydream to observe- almost as much as the look of enthrallment on Amado’s beautiful face.  
It’s been difficult to skirt this obvious desire to kiss his guest. The temptation to discover if there’s truth behind tonight’s mood weighs heavier with each passing breath.  
  
_  
  
Leaning back, Pacho molds himself into the wicker sofa and grins widely. The weed’s kicking in.  
“This is the life, isn’t it, Amado?”  
Eyes the color of amber fire explore the man before him. The flutter of Pacho’s caterpillar lashes gives him away. He isn’t even making it a point to hide his fascination with the Mexican.  
  
Amado feels observed. In fact, he knows he’s being studied. Yet something within him delights in a wild surge of pleasure at the idea. Maybe he’s crazy, or it’s wishful fucking thinking, but he’s pretty sure the Colombian has been enjoying his closeness of late.  
It’s been small things: a look here. A compliment there. A touch masked by feeling the softness of a garment which ends up lingering way too long.  
  
About a month ago, Amado started thinking he didn’t mind this attention at all. That someone like Pacho Herrera could choose pretty much any man he wanted… and so the fact that he might be interested in him?!  
Fuck.  
  
The questions born of this realization are twofold.  
One. Why did Amado feel such sweet musing whenever he summoned even a thought about Pacho? He never believed himself bisexual, but maybe now… maybe Pacho was changing the very essence of his being?  
Not unremittingly. Just pieces…a bit here and a bit there, finally coming together to complete the puzzle _tonight_?  
  
Two. _Dios_! Why does Amado’s heart turn over every time Pacho’s gaze meets his?  
_Pinche_. Fuck. _  
_ Amado concludes he might be all twisted up for the Colombian after all.  
_  
  
Here they sit in the ever expanding twilight. The thought whirring in Amado’s mind right now is that he wouldn’t trade this evening for the world.  
His slick mouth opens enough to let sounds escape, a pleasant warmth pulsing through his body.  
“It’s beautiful here, Pacho.”  
Now he’s the one whose gaze is flitting about, Amado’s peripheral focus drawn to the profile of Pacho’s plump lips. He’s feeling… carefree. Perhaps it’s the tequila and the drugs… but goddamn, he feels _good.  
  
_His legs part slightly, Amado’s tall form falling back into the cushions of the couch.  
The position puts him within reach of Pacho, and before he knows what he’s doing, his left hand is on the man’s shoulder. The almost possessive clasp on its roundness catches Pacho off guard. As the last of the shadows sink into darkness, Pacho’s face rearranges itself into a radiant grin.  
“Thank you, Amado. I enjoy spending time here.” The _with you,_ for the moment, goes unspoken.  
  
“I’m having a great time.” Amado means it. He hasn’t felt this way in a long while. Being around Pacho has made his heart swell with feelings he had long thought dead. What he is going to do with this information is yet to be seen, but in the meantime, the fact that he’s acknowledging it without even a tendril of panic means something.  
  
“I’m glad, _hermano._ You make me laugh. It’s something I treasure.” Pacho runs a thumb across his upper lip, and Amado follows the movement with a slow slide of his dark eyes.  
_God help me._   
  
“Me too,” Amado continues, his slim fingers catching Pacho’s knee. Pacho’s brow draws together in obvious pleasure at the contact.  
If that isn’t enough, Amado’s other hand is butterfly playing over Pacho’s collarbone. The flimsy fabric does little to sheath the feverish skin below. Amado realizes his digits have been there too long now to be an accident.  
Again, he refuses to register any concern.  
  
“You know, we could have more evenings like this,” Amado breathes. The message in his eyes is plain and the comfort of Pacho’s fingers slowly intertwining with his is **pure fucking bliss**.  
“Yes, I suppose we could.” Pacho traps the rest of his confession behind his teeth: _You don’t know how lonely I’ve been, Amado. Can you tell just by looking at me?  
_Being around Amado, it makes him feel light. Happy. He denies having to feel guilty for this. _  
  
_Pacho gently drags his thumb across the fleshy part of his palm, stopping at Amado’s wrist.The touch is light and painfully teasing.  
Pacho isn’t blind, or dumb, or deaf. Neither is Amado. The gravitational pull between them is palpable now. The reason Pacho hasn’t acted on it yet is because he generally frowns upon mixing business with pleasure.   
The reason Amado hasn’t acted upon it yet is because he’s terrified. Not of what having feelings for Pacho means to him, specifically. He only fears the consequence.  
  
Of rejection.  
Of acceptance?  
Perhaps, more than anything, he’s terrified of the evanescence of their sublime devotion. If they acknowledge it, only for it to be (possibly) discounted…what then? How will that effect their relationship?  
  
“Listen…” Amado breaks the tension. “I’m heading to Juarez tomorrow, I have some business with my partners.”  
“I see.” Pacho tries to make it sound perfunctory but fails miserably. The truth is an easier medium for him to handle, so he takes a chance. “It’s a shame you can’t stay longer.”  
  
Pacho shifts more from inner discomfort than anything else. He was hoping he’d have more time with Amado. Drawing one leg straight and the other folded beneath him, he thrusts his chest out just enough to matter.   
The lift of his hips, the lick of his lips… they do the rest. _Their invitation for Amado to remain are both implicit.  
  
_“ _Escuchame_ … “  
Listen to me, Amado murmurs to Pacho’s chest. The glance bends beneath the low-buttoned outline of his lightly patterned shirt. Bare skin and chest hair… Amado wonders what it would feel like if his hand slid there, under the cotton, past the medallion…   
“I’m only mentioning it because… it’s about what I asked you last time. About working with us?”  
Pacho nods. “ _Sì, yo me acuerdo_.” I remember _.  
_It’s been on his mind. No doubt. The heightened color of his cheeks betrays his inner turmoil… and the attraction beneath the proposal.  
  
“What am I going to tell them, Pacho? Have you decided?” _Por favor, tell me you’ll do it._  
Pinching his upper lip between his lips, Amado tilts his head. The half-full cocktail sitting on the table is suddenly looking like a very inviting distraction.  
  
Amado lifts the glass, holding it level with his heart.  
“Do you want more ice?” He gestures with his chin toward’s Pacho’s glass.  
Pacho breaks from their touch, regretfully so, to retrieve his.  
“Please.”  
His narrowed, glinting glance makes Amado’s breath hitch.  
  
Each get two cubes. Amado brings the beverage to his mouth with an unsteady hand and sips thoughtfully.  
“So, Pacho. Any thoughts?”  
“I’ve been considering it. What all this would mean. For me. For you. For _us._ ”  
  
There’s an _US_?! Amado questions instantly. Slowly and seductively, Pacho’s gaze slides downward. He stares wordlessly at Amado’s mouth. Feeling the scorch of his attention, Amado’s pupils widen to lustful amazement. The Mexican swallows hard.  
“And?”  
“And, Amado, there’s a lot to consider. You know with what happened, with Gilberto…”  
Frowning into his drink, Amado’s brow furrows. “ _Si, lo se_.” Yeah, I know _.  
_He bites into an ice cube, his hot tongue melting it on contact. Did the room just get warmer?  
  
“I want to give them good news, Pacho.”  
A crooked smile creases his face despite his wistful eyes. It might be the booze talking now, but fuck if he’s not feeling confident. Confidently _stupid?_  
“Also, I may have an ulterior motive for wanting you around.”  
_Shit. Too late now, I said it.  
_  
Pacho’s face remains a plank of wood. Goddamn he’s good at hiding his emotions. Or is he?!  
Pacho’s amazement at Amado’s brashness is evidenced only by a slightly arched eyebrow and a low breath.  
  
“Oh really, and what would that be?” he tests.  
Flittering across Amado’s handsome features is momentary panic. He wasn’t expecting Pacho to bite so quickly.  
He replies with the one thing that comes to mind, what’s in his line of vision:  
“You make a mean cocktail.”  
Pacho chuckles, teeth gleaming. The liquid sloshes from the movement and his pinky ring chinks against his tumbler.  
  
Jesus, Pacho’s even more beautiful when he laughs, Amado muses. The shade enveloping Amado’s face renders almost invisible the delicate gradations of his affection for him.  
Almost.  
Pacho catches all of their hints in the blaze of his eyes. Leaning across, he places his hand on Amado’s thigh, his guest barely able to control his gasp of surprise.  
“Amado. Miguel told me to look out for my affairs, so I’m going to think for myself right now.”  
“What does that mean, Pacho?” he asks, lungs tightening.  
  
“Give them good news. I’ll join you.”  
Amado’s hearty laugh reaches his eyes, spreading tiny lines outward.  
“ _Pinche, esto es grandioso! Cojonudo, hombre, no te arrepentirás de esto, confía en mí_!” Fuck, that’s amazing! Fuck, man, you won’t regret this, trust me!  
The corners of his lips can’t help but tug up.  
  
“I trust you, Amado, which is why the decision wasn’t very difficult. A grand decision deserves a grand gesture.”  
Unblinking, Amado stares wordlessly at Pacho, his heart thundering. The other allows his eyes to be dazzled, amusement flickering in the look.  
Fuck it, someone has to say it.  
“I agree.”  
“Amado, you don’t really want me around just for my cocktails, do you?” The question is hushed, dripping in yearning.  
  
Amado soughs almost in relief, the sparkle in his eyes nothing but trouble. Things are past the point of no return now.  
“No. But you do make a fucking amazing one.”  
What does he have to lose, but… everything?  
“Pacho, I’ve… I’ve been thinking about you since that day in Juarez. When you left, I don’t know…”  
  
A familiar heat warms his cheeks. Pacho leans forward, tilting his head quizzically. “Are you saying you missed me, _hermano_?”  
A low and pleasant hum turns Amado’s mind into a liquid, lustful mess.  
“I’m saying I don’t _pinche_ know what this is.”  
He finishes the drink in one swig and sets the glass on the coaster.  
  
The next thing he does is look Pacho straight in the eyes.  
“All I know is I enjoy being around you. Working with you directly means we get to do shit like this more often. That’s an eventuality I don’t mind at all.”  
Amado waits for a sign, a reply. _Something._ He’s almost to the point of not being able to resist the anguished burning of his body so if Pacho can hurry up already and-  
  
The sweet throbbing of Pacho’s lips makes him shift closer. “Amado…”   
The appellation hovers for a moment in the pause.  
“What Pacho?” It comes out weak, almost a plea.  
  
“Stay here tonight. _With me_.”  
Amado’s heart lurches madly. A strange, cold excitement ripples along his spine. Faced with confirmation, with what he’s been desiring now simpering right here before him, ready for the taking, he falters.  
Shit. A moment of unexpected fear creeps in.  
  
“Pacho, I…”  
Amado’s already decided. It wasn’t contingent on tonight’s events, which was just a pretense, anyway. Amado has known the secret of his heart for weeks, and he’d be lying to himself if he said otherwise.  
The crawling chill making him tremble right now is only an afterthought of some primordial self-reproach.  
  
Pacho understands. Jesus, he _lived it, didn’t he?_ Thanks to his piece of shit father who planted the seed of doubt and self-loathing in him.  
So yes, he knows exactly what’s going through Amado’s mind. And if he can do something to alleviate this, he will. Because not again. Not on his watch. No one should feel bad about who they desire.  
  
Gently, Pacho reaches out and takes Amado’s chin in his two fingers. The dark growth is soft against their pads.  
Amado’s dusky eyes move into his, the rest of the world fading.  
  
“We’re conditioned, Amado. By tradition. By the church. By antiquated ideas that have no root in reality. The reality is, this _thing_ thatpeople are so afraid of, it’s always existed. Right under their fucking noses, and sometimes in the stark light of day.”  
Right now, the longing that stretches between them, tethering them, pushes his reservations slowly aside. Amado nods, more to himself than anything else. He just needed to hear someone else say it. Someone who _gets it._  
  
“You’re right, Pacho. You’re right. And what the fuck… it all comes down to feelings at the end. It never mattered to me which side of the bed people slept in, so why should it now?”  
  
Pacho strokes his hair, and his heart seems to rush to the spot he just touched. Amado takes his hand and kisses the fingertips.  
  
“Love is love, Amado. This war, if you want to call it that. Against sexuality… against pleasure. It’s futile. This forbidden love, call it what you will, has existed and will always. And while they’re busy trying to put out flames that are raging eternal, people like me and you, Amado, are here trying to create a new sentiment.”  
  
Dammit, he’s good. Through a blissed-out haze, Amado can feel himself drifting willingly under the night’s spell.  
“I think you’re amazing, Pacho. I want you to know that. Exceptional.”  
Amado’s blinking less, Pacho notices. Like he’s worried about missing something. Maybe he’s trying to memorize every angle of Pacho’s face? Maybe he’s trying to freeze this moment?  
  
Leaning the slightest bit in his direction, they’re truly just inches apart.  
Pacho waits. It’s Amado who needs to do this, it’s Amado who needs to make the first gesture “his own.” He’ll never get another "first time." If he takes this step, he will remember it for the rest of his life.  
Like pyrography for his heart, etching eternity.   
  
Amado sighs. Finds his courage deep within the fire in his belly. His left hand slithers down Pacho’s leg, from his knee to the roundness of his outer thigh, and closes over it with a gentle clasp. His right moves to the top button of Pacho’s eggshell shirt, fingering it lightly.  
  
“I’m sorry if this’ll be… I mean I’ve never…”  
The heart-rending tenderness of Amado’s gaze, that fragility flickering far back… Pacho can’t help but touch his cheek with searching gravity.  
“Shh. I was once where you are. There’s always a first time for everything, Amado. Don’t apologize.”  
  
Amado’s defenses are melting away. Intoxicated by the man before him, he parts his slick lips.  
He’s ready.  
“I guess there is, Pachito. I guess there is,” he mewls. Reaching past the gap of buttons, timidly… Amado slips two fingers in and presses it to warm flesh.  
A hand closes over his, both firm over Pacho’s drumming heart.  
  
“Don’t be afraid _mi amor_ ,” Pacho sibilates. Cupping his face lovingly, he allows Amado to come within a hair’s breadth of his lips. “I was a gentleman before I became a drug dealer.”  
_  
  
The earth falls away for a moment, and with it goes … that place of rapture, utterly consuming them both.  
  
It starts gently. Politely.  
Amado settles his mouth on Pacho’s with featherlike lightness and curiosity. His tongue slips in, velvety and tasting of tequila. Pacho cards his fingers into Amado’s long hair, nape to crown, and encourages him with lazy, sensuous movements to follow with a sweet exploration.  
It’s different from kissing women, he thinks from behind the fog of his want. It’s different, and yet it isn’t. There’s just more hardness, more angles. And perhaps a crueler, more urgent ravishment.  
Or maybe not, he’s not sure because his mind is whirling. Whatever the sex, no one has ever kissed him _like this_.  
Amado moans lightly, crushing into him. He can feel Pacho’s rigid cock dig into his groin as they writhe on top of each other, a mess of limbs and sensations.  
  
Jesus, everything about Amado makes Pacho shiver in desire. The hunger is seeping from every pore the more they deepen the kiss. Pacho whines lightly, the ache in his groin almost unbearable.  
He pulls away, licking over his lover’s bruised, gaping mouth, only to come back and brush his lips again, a mischievous grin painted on his face.  
If this is going to go further, he needs consent.  
  
“Amado,” he murmurs as they touch foreheads. He inspects his gaze, scrutinizing it closely. “Are you okay?”  
  
“Sì, Pacho. I’m perfect.” The answer comes before Pacho can even finish his phrase.   
Amado’s fists grab fabric and tug madly, and when Pacho anchors himself on Amado’s belt, slipping a hand beyond the waistline, his lover nods into him.  
"Sì, Pachito..."  
  
The belt comes undone, and with it the top button of his jeans. It’s a tantalizing invitation for more, a clear reply. But Pacho doesn’t move to unzip. He just smiles wickedly as he strokes him over the denim.  
“Cristo… “ he whines, bucking into Pacho's fist.   
  
Drunk on him, enveloped in Amado’s cologne, his musk clings to him. Amado cleaves to him with claw and fang.  
Nips along Pacho’s neck spur the other to bare it in offering. Pacho’s lower lip disappears between Amado’s teeth. For one crazy moment, Pacho feels like he’s so close to catching a whiff of the fragrance of heaven. He aches to stand up with him, take him in his arms.  
Bring him to his bed.  
  
Amado undoes Pacho’s shirt, nails finally sliding over bare flesh. One finger sears a path down his abdomen, boldly closing over the protuberance.  
Both their groins tighten in a tangle of craving.

“ _Vamos en el cuarto_?” Pacho asks, almost shyly. Should we go to the bedroom?  
“Si, Pachito,” Amado whimpers. “ _Sì. Vamos_.” Yes, let’s go.

Pacho offers him his hand, and Amado takes it.   
Pacho holds it gently, like a sparrow in his palm that’s about to learn to fly.  
In a way, Amado is. There are things in his world that have yet to be discovered. Amado’s on the verge of his epiphany.  
  
They don’t rush it. It’s a slow walk over to the door. Pacho lets it swing open. He half turns and waits.  
“Please,” he gestures with his head.  
Amado motions to cross the threshold, hold fast over his knuckles. “Let’s go in together.”

_

Their first time together is like a series of Polaroids falling swiftly to the ground. At least that’s how they remember it. A series of unforgettable moments.   
  
Pacho’s touch is soft, like dribbling rain. He’s courteous and tender until Amado begs him for a furious tempest.  
Then fingers move along sweat-slippery flesh, kneading and scratching. Sexes sound slick as they probe, slide, bury within delicious warmths.  
  
Amado comes twice, both times in blinding ecstasy. The second is with his head thrown back and drops of saliva coating his chin, just like his spend beading on Pacho’s stomach.  
Pacho dips a finger in it, wetting it and spreading the moisture on Amado’s thirsty tongue.  
  
The briny kiss that follows, the matching rhythm of their movements, all hurl Pacho into his final orgasm. Amado’s taut body milks it from him, the air between them saturated in lust and unspoken promise.   
_  
  


Later, Pacho's head rests on Amado's cooling breast. They embrace like lovers do, legs scissored around one another and a familiarity that allows for silence.  
Pacho reflects. He hopes. As he runs his hand possessively down Amado's ribs, he reads the poetry carved into every contour of his body.   
Amado is pensive as well, taciturn. He traces a circle into Pacho's bicep, kisses the top of his head sweetly. He hasn't been this happy in a long time. He sighs, praying the acceptance and understanding that Pacho has gifted him may never leave him.   
  
The dawn will usher in a new day, a new partnership. And perhaps a deeper awareness about their future together.  
For now, in the pitch darkness, the outside world with all its prejudices doesn't matter. Only their closeness does.  
  
Midnight, after all, is for lovers lost in time and place. 

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I'm realizing I like to write the "weird" or less popular pairings in this fandom, haha, and I'm totally okay with that. I was the first to write a fic here about Pablo and his cousin because I saw so much sexual tension there.  
> I didn't look back in the queue enough to see if someone has already written this moment in the episode I mention, but even if they have the beauty of writing is we all put a different spin on things.  
> This isn't a canon take exactly but in the episodes that brought me to write this fic, I swear I saw something in Pacho's eyes when he was looking at Amado. That's all it took.  
> I invented and changed what suited me to fit the story but there are some lines from the episode which are identical. 
> 
> The title comes from the Fortunately album, but it's also something Amado says about Juarez when Pacho visits him. 
> 
> So, if you've given this a chance, I thank you from the bottom of my heart and I hope you enjoyed it as much as I loved writing it.  
> These Narcos fics are my little labors of love that I want to share with you.  
> If you've read my Javi/Steve fic, stay tuned. There's a surprise fourth chapter coming this week. I'm just getting back into the "Narcos" mood as I work my way through the new N:Messico season. I spent time in Colombia last summer and have been hankering to write them again.  
> I put the Messico tag in there since Amado and Pacho are in both series. 
> 
> If you'd like to comment, I'd love that. Even if you don't know what to say but perhaps you liked it, it would make me happy to read just those two words. Archive has really been dry on comments in general so us authors are encouraging people to do so. I appreciate every single one and reply to all!  
> Thanks for reading me and dedicating your time to my prose.


End file.
